The Adventures of Tiny Corvo
by Machinist's Guardian Archangel
Summary: A collection of one-shots, session recaps, and general weirdness about my old D&D campaign starring Corvo the spider rogue. Updates from time to time, but this is mostly me taking small breaks from my main stories. It's relaxing, despite the amount of fire this party deals with.
1. Tiny Corvo Bio

So I got bored and decided to finally do something with a character I've had for months and kept forgetting to: filled out his OC character sheet template. I forget where I found this template (anyone who recognizes it, let me know and I'll credit them for it), but it's been a nice way to make me write down and think about most everything with my characters. So I did it with Tiny Corvo. Figured I would share it here, if only so I don't accidentally lose it in a random crash of Google Drive, and to give everyone more context for my little asshole, since you can't sit on all of the sessions with him... So, without further ado, Tiny Corvo!

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Name: Corvo "Shadowfox" Millbridge  
Age: Late 40s  
Sex: Male  
Species: Halfling  
Height: 3' 1"  
Weight: 43 lbs  
Appearance: shoulder length black hair, shaved face/sideburns, dark green eyes, slightly tanned skin. Thin, but muscular. Two thick scars on his cheek and neck from blades, multitude of thinner scars on forearms, legs, and back from whips/chains, several combat scars here and there.

Behavior and Personality: Bitterly and darkly sarcastic almost all the time, trying to find a bit of dark humor in his miserable life. Always observant and watching others, trying to learn something about them. If not to use against them later, just to catalog mentally. Decent at being superficially friendly, but very slow to reveal anything personal. Openly admits how distrustful he is of others, shows almost no respect to those who think they're above him. Bit of a workaholic, has trouble relaxing unless in absolute nowhere with truly nothing on his mind.

Skills: dual dagger fighting, sneaking, lockpicking, trap disarming, cat burglarly, acrobatics, anything involving nimble feet or hands, tactics, spotting threats and valuables, disappearing into crowds or ceilings, knife tricks, juggling, some magic knowledge, fluent in Thieves' Cant.  
Weaknesses: minimal people skills; terrible at wilderness survival, animal handling, medicine skills, and anything relying on strength; difficulty working with others, too distrusting; kleptomania; short temper, minimal care for human life.  
Likes: reading, tea, his pet raven, gold, collecting daggers, stealing from those above him, screwing with nobles/leaders, learning any knowledge, bard's music.  
Dislikes: nobility/authority, mercenaries/bounty hunters, dealing with people, demons, religious types, fair fights, getting talked down to, wilderness, coffee, boats, caves.

History:

Corvo was born a slave in Cheliax. Along with his parents and younger siblings, Myrtle and Wellby, they served Baron Gontier's family. The five of them could care for their master and his two kids with relative ease, leaving at least one of them free each day. Corvo took to thieving with this time, using his nimbleness to get into the safes the nobles of Senara thought were protected. He made enough for his family to have real blankets, clothes, and occasional wine. Even after their parents died, leaving only the three children to care for the house, he made sure his siblings had some coin and jewelry to their names. They were slaves, but comfortable slaves. When the eldest Gontier child, Amanda, wasn't abusing them for whatever reason she felt like that day.

This lasted until House Gontier took a day out in the market. Wellby did his best to carry his share of the shopping bags, but he stumbled into a noble's leg. Arthur Abele, middle child of House Abele and insulted by the touch of the dirty slave, drove the bronze head of his cane through Wellby's skull. Corvo froze, while Myrtle lunged at her brother's killer. The eldest Abele, Count Maximus, took her head with his golden sword. The only reason Corvo was spared was the final Abele, Friori, saying he needed to "clean up the mess." Baron Gontier was well below House Abele, and did nothing to stop the destruction of his property. The remaining slave loaded his siblings into a wheelbarrow he had to buy himself, brought them to the house, and buried them in the yard beside their parents. All he kept was the pocket knife Wellby was carrying, a quiet contraband his siblings shared to feel as if they had some power in their lives.

That night, Corvo gathered his coin, supplies, and ill-gotten goods into a small pack. He left a note for his master, thanking Baron Gontier for treating him as well as he did and saying he would not be back. No one noticed the halfling's trek across the city, or him sneaking into the Abele's mansion through the roof.

He killed eight people that night. The first five were the guards that escorted the Abele siblings in the market, who let his brother fall into their master and did nothing to save his family from the retribution. He killed them with a dagger to the throat, quickly and quietly. The Abeles, he woke them with a cut along their cheek before driving daggers through their eyes. He took every jewel he could carry from their rooms, and fled the country. He never forgot the smile he had that night, how it felt to remind the nobles they bled and died like the slaves they stepped on. And how thankful he was the Abeles did not have children to complicate his vengeance.

After fleeing Cheliax, Corvo spent several years in the neighboring countries of Druma and Isker, making a living off thieving, occasional vigilante justice for hire gigs, and generally menacing anyone associated with his home country. After a decade of this and the bounty hunters sent by a survivng cousin of the Abeles, Corvo made a beeline towards Galt, where the chaos of the country could hide him. While trying to evade a particularly stubborn band of bounty hunters, aided by a very angry marshal, he ducked into the Verduran Forest to shake them. Corvo read enough stories of dryads and the other creatures to understand that as long as he kept to himself, the dryads and fey would leave him alone. Sure enough, the simple halfling who slept in trees, rather than cutting them down and burning them, was spared. The less subtle hunters lasted only two days. Corvo was free to continue into Galt's chaotic cities, sporting a large and strange spider bite on his back from the one giant arachnid whose nest he accidentally climbed into.

He made a living as a wanderer, thief, and occasional killer of those who have it coming in the ruined country. After robbing several notable houses, and a few empty ones, he broke into House Ravenholm for the treasures the vault surely hid. After working his way through the house, listening to several of the guards discussing what the family truly went through, and discovering more of the truth, Corvo couldn't bring himself to steal what they had left. Instead, he dropped from a chandelier at the governess' feet, offering his services and a needed pair of clean pants. In exchange for a safe place to sleep, Corvo would rob the houses and gangs still fueling the chaos of the country, killing and crippling those who really needed it. Minus his 20%, of course. He also entertained the kids with stories he read as a child, small feats of acrobatics, and the occasional goodie he stole from a careless noble. Things were simple, until they had to investigate that vandalism at the Ravenholm family crypt and found that damned Vault.

Clothing/Personal Style: usually in dark studded leather armor covered in extra pockets for gold and holsters for knives, added with Ravenholm mask; if relaxing, loose, comfortable, but somewhat well-dressed, essentially a middling merchant style of clothes with a few extra pockets and knives hidden inside. Regardless of clothes, now has a raven constantly on shoulder that's almost an accessory at this point.

Goal: be rich as Hell, kill Movor, retire somewhere away from bounty hunters where he can steal only when he feels like it, rather than having to.  
Profession: Thief.  
Personal quote: "Left kneecap or right?"  
Theme song: Nobody's Praying For Me, Seether

Favorite food: Homemade sweet rolls.  
Favorite drink: tea.  
Favorite location: Galt, specifically the farmlands that are calmer than most of the coutry.  
Favorite weather: warm, not too hot.  
Favorite color: black.

Least liked food: anything raw.  
Least liked drink: coffee, cheap alcohol.  
Least liked location: Cheliax.  
Least liked weather: cold.

Favorite person: currently Flyn Riverfellow, by some miracle.  
Least liked person: at the moment, Bayard the Silent. Usually Movor Abele.  
Friends: Flynn Riverfellow (mostly); Dex (questionable); Hendricks (out of touch)  
Relations: no family left, various associates/thieves he's worked with, several employers he approached and took jobs from.  
Enemies: Movor Abele, last Abele and cousin to the ones Corvo killed; any bounty hunters who know about him; a long list of nobles, bandit leaders, and mercenaries he's robbed over the years.  
Significant other: none  
Orientation: straight


	2. A Recap and Character Introduction

Between this site and a few other random ones, I actually had some people curious to find out what in the Hell is going on in our D&D campaigns. The short answer: chaos. Pure chaos. But my DM said it would be entertaining to see me try to condense almost a year of psychopaths living in a fantasy world, and I took the challenge. So, here's the result.

First, let me give credit to my DM for the first portion. The site we use, Roll20, has a codex/journal thing for what's happened previously in the campaign, and he's done a great job of keeping it updated. Problem was, it was a little over 9 pages... I did a lot of editing, paraphrasing, and condensing to make it a little more accessible to people who didn't need to know everything. It's still about six months worth of sessions here, so it's a lot, but I did my best.

The bottom portion is Corvo's knowledge and thoughts on the important characters, as well as a shortened version of his backstory. Those, I made from scratch. Again, tried to condense a few dozen sessions worth of information on each character. But it's mostly readable. And the "Personal note" portions are literally the thoughts from his head about these characters, rather than just what he knows.

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 **The Story So Far...**

Long and noble is House Ravenhelm of Galt. Even under the demonic fist of Cheliax, House Ravenhelm was kind with the people of the land they found themselves in, gaining a sterling reputation. Sadly, as with all good things, it came to an end.

With the beginning of the Red Revolution, House Ravenhelm was spared from the Final Blades. As the years progressed, however, the roving mobs began demanding more and more from the fading House. Their reputation no longer protected them. Lord Ravenhelm was executed when he strayed too far from the city, his soul trapped in a Final Blade. The Lady of Ravenhelm, in fear for the life of herself and the rest of her family, began donning a disguise and using only the title "Lady Raven". Her children were confined to the castle, and most of the remaining servants were sent away for their own protection. Soon, only herself, her children, her head guard, and a couple of servants remained in the castle.

Still, in this darkest of times, four new figures made their way to the castle: Corvo, the Halfling thief; Caiphyra, the elven sage; Swif Redwing Asterion III, a peculiar kenku wizard; and Flynn Riverfellow…..whose stories speak for themselves. Each found their way under the guidance and protection of House Ravenhelm, bringing a spark of joy into the gloom. The four began aiding in missions for the house, providing some relief from the mobs.

It was not long before the castle came under siege from a Black Sun orc and small army of cultists. The group managed to save Satori the bodyguard, while Lady Raven and the children escaped on their own. Assuming the young ones went to the nearby town of Woodsedge, the party went there to search while Satori hunted for Lady Raven on his own. On the way, they interrogated several of the captured cultists and discovered they were trying to capture the family at the orders of the goddess Urgathoa.

It only took a few hours to find most of the children in Woodsedge. The eldest, Branwen, apparently left her young siblings with a barkeep while she checked on the castle. Unfortunately for her, she was captured by wayward executioners after noble blood. Fortunately, the party arrived in time to stop that. Branwen quickly admitted she was heading towards the family crypt to deal with a vault hidden within. Refusing to leave their charge, they followed her in the next day to assist. A deranged Spectator, Mundo, waited with gold and other magical artifacts in the vault. He revealed that there were several of these Vaults, each constructed by powerful families to hide powerful artifacts and creatures from the world. In the generations since, outside parties learned of these Vaults and were intent on gaining the powers for themselves. With Ravenhelm being one of the last remaining families, the cult of Urgathoa was determined to use them for their own purposes. After a major disagreement with Mundo and his death, the party left the Vault with a new mission: Find the other Vaults and destroy or take their contents to prevent these parties from taking them.

On the way back to Woodsedge, the journey was interrupted by the attack of a Kipine, a flying owlbear determined to eat Swif and Corvo. They found assistance in a new friend: Earwen, the elven paladin of fire and general recklessness. After bringing the creature down, they found the town terrorized by a slaughter of its residents in the night. Lady Griselda, an apparent member of the Cult of Urgothoa, was the first and obvious suspect. This assumption was only reinforced when the cult staged another attack to steal the children. The party took them down, and used their captured leader to sneak into the cult's manor.

After a massive chase scene, and the slaughter of cultists at the hands of an experimental ghoul, the party met the necromancer Dr Baines who was ready to leave the cult, but needed a distraction. The destruction of the manor, as well the massive flesh golem roaming the city, provided that and a chance to escape the party. With the help of Satori, who arrived out of the blue, and several townsfolk, the flesh golem fell to a hail of arrows, daggers, fire, and an alchemist's cart. Peace returned to the city...what was left of it, at least.

After a few days of relaxing, the party was told by Satori of three possible leads in the case to find the Vaults and the conspirators behind the attack against Ravenhelm; weapons the cult possessed were forged in the Five King's Mountains, Black Sun Orcs have been spotted in great numbers in the land of Isger, and Lady Griselda is presumed to have fled to the land of Druma. After some debate, the party decided to head to the Five King's Mountain range to investigate the weapons first. Before Satori departed with the children, he gave one final warning to Flynn; someone, possibly in the party, had betrayed the house.

The party gained admittance on a ship sailing their way and was attacked by a bounty hunter named Nalina. Upon her capture, she informed them that they possessed bounties from Druma for the death of Lady Ravenhelm before escaping. Disembarking further on, the group decided to head on foot to Droskar's Crag, the home of the weaponsmiths that were supplying the cult and a possible Vault location. On the way, they dealt with a small group of lizardfolk and rescued a large dog Flynn took to calling Brownie. They were then surrounded by local dryad, who wanted their further aid in clearing their forests of the lizardfolk. Taking out a patrol proved the party's strength to the dryad, who then happily sicced them on Droskar's Crag to the north, the assumed base of the lizards and the party's destination.

From there, they entered the caves...and things became complicated. Between the fire giantess Fyrie, her automatron Warden, and the enigmatic leader of the lizardfolk Mama, there was no shortage of enemies stopping the party from reaching the Vault. The Azer natives of the mountain, the hired weaponsmiths for the cult, had become slaves to the new arrivals. What followed involved a dozen skirmishes, a prison break, a few decapitations, a small revolution, and a battle in the heart of the nearby Vault. The ensuing revolt claimed the lives of many Azer, Fyrie and her Warden, and more lizardfolk than can be counted. But in the end, the party reached the inner Vault, which turned out to be a library manned by Benny the ghost and several nefarious traps. While Benny was friendly enough, the latter made it difficult to retrieve the magical books the place was built to protect.

It was when they tried to leave that they found Mama and the remaining lizardfolk shamans. Her request for the books was greeted with several blades and spells. In the ensuing fight, she revealed herself to be a disguised Night Hag and her alliance with Caiphyra. The pair escaped with their lives and one of the six books, leaving the others to lick their wounds. With the mountain's danger quelled, only the halflings Flynn and Corvo remained of the party. Earwen took her leave to join the Azer in the Plane of Fire, where she could be at home with her pyromania. Swif was forced by Benny to work inside the library for a year as payment for the damages. Undeterred and feeling an obligation to finish their quest, the pair spent the week slowly climbing out of the mines and towards daylight. Towards their next target: the capitalist country of Druma, Lady Griselda's reported hiding spot.

Flynn was delighted to find one of his old traveling companions, Bayard the Silent, moments after reaching the surface again. The paladin had vowed to check on him after seeing Flynn's wanted poster. Introductions were interrupted when the three found themselves under attack by the bounty hunter, Nalina, and two compatriots; the necromancer tabaxi, Dex, and the human squire, Stryker. After a very quick battle, where Nalina revealed that she was to take them to Druma at the behest of her employer, the party happily surrendered and followed them to Druma as "prisoners."

The group eventually reached the city of Detmer, where they met Nathaniel Strikken, a noble and descendent of the Vault protecting families. After hearing about the assault on House Ravenhelm and the party's involvement, he set bounties on them to get their help without raising suspicion. More information had to be shared at a later time, though: an important package he had smuggled in was missing, and the party had a vested interest in retrieving it. Styker and Dex were ordered to assist the halflings and Bayard, who had reluctantly joined. The smuggler's dock was full of savage blink dogs, satyrs, and one Branwen Ravenhelm. That explanation had to wait as well, due to a massive Orog riding a Nightmare interrupting the reunion.

Branwen revealed her new status as a warlock in the ensuing chase, but she came to minimal harm when the party finally put the pursuers down. At the mansion, Branwen reluctantly revealed how she got her power; her family had been followers of Pharasma, the embodiment of death, for ages. With her mother's death, she was chosen as the next head of the family and offered power and vengeance, in exchange for servitude. Before a real argument could ensue, Strikken returned to offer his own explanations. The Strikken family had protected the Vault in Druma, keeping it so well hidden that even Nathaniel was not aware of where it was. Within this Vault is, rumored, to be a once great vampire and leader of a massive undead army; Lady Marie, and her Danse Macabre, a musical device capable of commanding legions of the dead.

With the coming of the orcs outside the city and a number of assassinations within the city, the party agreed to work with Strikken to stop the Cult of Urgathoa from finding the Vault. Considering their options, they decided to deal with the assassinations first. The suspects were the long thought defunct "Rat Conclave", a guild of thieves and murderers. It did not take long to find them, or to strike a deal with the second-in-command: kill the current boss, and the new leader would end all contracts with the cult. Defeating the Koblack boss was easier said than done, but the Conclave's base had minimal fire damage in the end.

Afterwards, the party went to destroy a portal to the Feywilds; the orcs were corrupting fey into additional slaves and warriors. After picking a fight with a massive Siege Owlbear and its fearsome rider, the party destroyed the portal and took the rider hostage for interrogation. The rider gave some information, including the location of where the Fey were being corrupted and a "secret project" near the lake that Garrod was keen on finishing. Before they could find out more, they were ambushed by a dozen cultists and finally met their leader face to face; Lady Griselda, a powerful undead creature of Urgathoa. After a fierce battle, Griselda fled, and the party quickly headed home to avoid another skirmish.

Preparing themselves, the party set out once more to handle the camp of corrupted fey and orcs. Accompanied by Brownie, goblins, and a zombie, the party surprised the small camp, managing to destroy it and sending it's leader fleeing into the forest to avoid the carnage. Speaking to several of their captives, the party learned a horrifying new fact about the Vault; not only did it possibly contain Lady Marie and her magic item, it also contained her undead army. With the orcs attempting to blockade the city from the outside, Griselda seemingly hoped to unleash a second army from inside to raze it to the ground. After dealing with several undead, sent as retribution by the Pale Lady herself, the party attempted to get some much needed rest back in Detmer...only to awaken to assassins standing in their beds.

 **People of Note, according to Corvo**

 **Allies (?)**

 **Lady Branwen Ravenhelm:**

The eldest child of the Ravenhelm family, Branwen pledged her servitude to Pharasma as matriarchs have done for generations. With her mother dead, the family mansion destroyed, and their legacy under attack, she has little left than vengeance and protecting her siblings. She was smart enough to stash them away with old friends in Galt before pursuing Griselda in Druma with Strikken's help. Armed with Pharasma's magic and her own rage, she's deadly, if inexperienced, in a fight.

Personal note: I know the kid's anger better than I should. She's looking for blood, but at least she has a target. Good news is, we can steer that. But it's getting the better of her. Stupid kid's one temper tantrum away from getting herself killed. Got one idea to fix that, not that the others will like it...

 **Nathaniel Strikken** :

Strikken has the resources of a noble, but is still a small fish in Druma. Money rules all in the country of brilliant businessmen and cutthroat merchants. And as rich as Strikken is, he's still a relative unknown. This ultimately works in his favor, considering his family is one of the few remaining Vault guardians. While he has never seen the Vault, or even know where it is, he understands how important his job is. He'll do whatever the party needs for support… as long as they ask properly.

Personal note: Perfect example of why I hate Druma: more money than he can ever spend, has too many damn guards to protect it, and is always planning who to screw over to get more. I don't buy him doing this out of the goodness of his heart. He's getting something for our trouble. Not knowing what is keeping me up at night, and traps on my door.

 **Brownie** :

No one thought much of the dog when he was rescued from the lizardfolk bandits. But after seeing him become invisible, bite with poison fangs, and see through magical darkness, it was obvious he was no normal dog. According to Nalina, he's an Imp trapped in canine form, and the evidence seems to support that. But Nalina is no longer in absolute control of her puppy… He's bonded quite heavily to Flynn, and the pair are nearly inseparable. Flynn is happy to have a pet now, even if it's Infernal.

Personal note: I joked the dog was a Hell Hound the first time he went invisible… Didn't figure I was that close. Doesn't matter how helpful he seems, I'm not turning my back on him.

 **Targets**

 **Lady Griselda:**

Griselda is some kind of undead construct or creature, but no one is quite sure what. She seems to be the leader of the Urgathoa Cult that's after the Vaults and the Ravenhelm house, even if the latter is only a means to an end. The mystery around her makes her more dangerous. She's proven able to raise and command legions of undead, to plan a city-razing siege, and wield strong enough magic to kill almost anyone in her path. Assuming she doesn't just send her cult after her targets.

Personal note: When's the last time I was paid properly for what I was hired to kill? Not when I was chest deep in a fire giant's eye. Not when I was riding a 20 foot lizard shaman. Definitely not when I was being chased by a regenerating ghoul… Now, some undead creature with the ability to raise more undead… I deserve a bonus. Might have to snag one from Strikken before I go.

 **Mama:**

When she was first found by the party, Mama seemed like an aged Dragonborn that led her lizardfolk with an iron fist. But she was actually a disguised Night Hag, and a crafty one at that. She was using Fyrie to get the books in the Vault, and managed to turn Caiphyra against the party. She only escaped with one of the six books, but no one believes they've seen the last of her.

Personal note: Durable for a mage, but not big on fighting for herself. Usually just lets her minions deal with it. I'm going to enjoy putting her down, if only for the shit she did to those Azer.

 **Garrod:**

Few things are truly known about Garrod. He is an Orog, he rides a Nightmare, and he is the definitive leader of the orcs laying siege to Demter. According to his men, he has returned from the grave at least twice, and nothing can make him stay dead. He's also smart enough to work out a portal to the Feywilds, and corrupt those captured from it into soldiers. If his combat prowess matches his reputation, killing him permanently will be no small task.

Personal note: Apparently Stryker's cousin is one of the guys who killed this ugly bastard before. Maybe he's trying to bring the city down just to get payback. Regardless, he's working for Griselda: I don't need another reason to take his head. Maybe if we cut him to pieces and scatter them, he'll stay down.

 **The Party (Past and Present)**

 **Swif Redwing Asterion:**

Prone to panic and collateral damage, the Kenku wizard was a terrifying wildcard on the battlefield. Anything "interesting" he could get his feathers on was either stashed into his cloak or launched at his targets. People stupid enough to get close to him suffered small earthquakes, attacking shadows, and their own shrieks repeated back at them perfectly. Outside of fights, he served as a walking encyclopedia and source of random, useful trinkets. He always apologised and paid for for any damages he made, but that was not enough for Benny the ghost. He was forced to stay in the Vault for a year of service after almost demolishing a wall. He could think of worse punishments than staying in a library.

Personal note: When I kill someone, the guy cleaning up after only has to mop up some blood. Polly kills someone, he has to pull bodies out of the ceiling, replace walls, and probably put a fire out. Damn bird was more likely to kill himself than anyone else, but he was good for free entertainment. Part of me almost misses him… Then I remember the candelabra that almost went through my head.

 **Caiphyra:**

The elven sage never revealed to the party why she joined Lady Raven, but they were content not to ask. She proved to be incredibly helpful to the house, whether it was with her knowledge of magic, her proficiency with divination spells, or her prodigal skill with a bow. While her dangerous curiosity and occasional lack of mercy set the group on edge, the incidents were few and far between. She was a mostly appreciated party member until she accepted Mama's invitation. Tempted by the promise of long lost knowledge, she left the group in the Vault at Drausker's Crag with one of the magical books in tow.

Personal Note: She doesn't know it yet, but she's dead. Sparkles would've died four times if we hadn't kept her alive. That's not even worth one magic book to her? When I find her again, she's going to wish I had let that orc spear kill her. It would've been faster than what I'm planning.

 **Flynn Riverfellow:**

It is a rare moment to find Flynn not charming his way into the hearts of his public. An experienced bard with several adventures under his belt, he's remarkably tight lipped about anything personal. The only things known about the halfling are he was raised by gnomes, led at least one small revolution, and defeated a minotaur with Bayard. In a fight, he prefers to use his wits and magic over brute force. When he's not herding enemies with terrifying illusions, he's knocking them out with sleep spells or inspiring his company. The de facto leader and glue of the party, he proves cunning and luck can replace size when properly applied.

Personal note: Talks too much for my taste, but he knows how to back up his loud mouth. Only real issue I have is the naivety. He keeps forgetting a lot of these bastards are past saving, that pretty words won't keep them from being highwaymen again. Still trust him, though. Flynn's the only one I've told about Cheliax… He's earned it, with all the corners we've been stuck in together.

 **Earwen:**

As a paladin following the Oath of Eternal Night, the elf was surprisingly competent at stealth when she chose to be. Most of the time, however, she preferred to handle things with holy fire and a massive hammer. A designated survivor of a now extinct elf clan, she spent most of her life as a hermit in the forest until an owlbear intruded on her territory. She joined the group more out of curiosity than anything else, and enjoyed the opportunity to learn more forbidden knowledge. The biggest surprise she learned, however, was a draconic ancestry that explained her ever-present pyromania. Her decision to follow the Azer to the Plane of Fire likely came from this, but she never cared to explain herself.

Personal note: Pyro and I didn't get off to a great start, considering she tried to offer me as sacrificial distraction to an owlbear. But we ended up getting along: she enjoyed being an armored distraction while I got behind marks, then splitting the profits. Didn't hurt neither of us minded getting our hands dirty when we needed to. Think she still has one of my books.

 **Bayard the Silent:**

The massive and devout follower of Iomedae is a true force to be reckoned with. Bayard has spent years defending the innocent with his holy shield, long sword, and entirely armored body. His silence is a voluntary vow of his, for reasons he has never discussed. He may have joined out of concern for Flynn, but the quest to kill undead and save a city will make him see it to the end. While he silently butts heads with the less moral members of the group, he understands rules must be bent for the greater good. But he's not happy about it, and he certainly doesn't trust the resident thief and necromancer.

Personal note: There's a reason I don't get along with religious types. Blondie's just reinforcing that trend. He doesn't get to judge me for stealing or how I get information: not all of us have a deity watching our backs. I could tolerate the distrust if it wasn't for Griselda. Now that she's mentioned the dead Abeles, Blondie's looking at me like a threat. Can't wait for that to go to shit.

 **Stryker Bard:**

Born into a supposedly cursed family, the knight squire is currently on loan to Lord Strikken as some kind of debt arrangement. He lacks the experience and confidence of the elder adventurers, but makes up for with physical power and enthusiasm. Few can match his supernatural speed in battle, as well as a few magical powers that seem to come from his gauntlet and an elf ghost hiding in his body. But when things go wrong for Stryker, they do so spectacularly: unexplained explosions, food rotting near him, suddenly becoming a bear cub. Regardless, his youthful enthusiasm and innocence leads to him being a useful, if somewhat unreliable, member of the party.

Personal note: Apparently, Jinx's entire family is cursed like him. Not magical weird shit, but bad luck follows all of them. That's a new one. He's a quick study, helps counter how green he is. Knows how to improvise too. Just have to make sure he doesn't blow himself up. Seems to mean well enough, at least. Needs to quit drooling over Branwen.

 **Dex:**

Most necromancers focus on cold and death. Dex takes a different approach: burn it until it quits twitching, then make the corpse carry the loot home. The Tabaxi bounty hunter currently serves Strikken to escape imprisonment for various necromancer crimes, in addition to arson and general thievery. His magic is really just a means to an end for him: to become the greatest thief that ever lived. Not that he doesn't enjoy fire and chaos for the sake of it, but it means little without the jingle of gold in his pocket. While he doesn't have much choice in helping the group, he's happy for the chance to get some more coin, burn a few things down, and expand his zombie entourage.

Personal note: I traded one fire maniac for another. And this one leads undead with a magic piccolo. Great… Fluffy still doesn't trust us much, but paying him for his kills helps. It's nice having another thief around to help, especially one who actually helps when rules need to be bent. The Vault has me worried, but we'll burn that bridge when we get there.

 **Corvo "Shadowfox" Millbridge:**

Cheliax is not kind to slaves, and Corvo is no halfling did his service, took his beatings, and stole from other families to keep his comfortable. He tolerated this life until his siblings were slaughtered in the market by House Abele: the brother for tripping into one of their legs, and the sister for defending him. Corvo was spared only so he could "clean up the mess," as one of the three Counts ordered. After he buried his siblings, he snuck into the Abele mansion, and killed the family that took his. Corvo has spent his life since on the run, looking for a palace to rob, a criminal to cripple, or chaos to hide in. He was always good at slipping into places he didn't belong, and nearly three decades of practice has only made him better at it. Now armed with powers from a corrupted spider bite, a mask that allows him to summon ravens and magical darkness, and daggers for every occasion, he's mostly enjoying his new role in the quest. While he's always looking to make a profit for his troubles, being a part of a group trying to stop evil fits him better than he expected.

Personal note: Steal from assholes who have it coming, put down the dangerous ones, leave time for a book and tea every night: life used to be simple. Now it's fire giants and cultists trying to get to a Vault hiding a vampire and her undead army. I could always go back to that… Just duck out the window one night, make a break for Galt and lose myself in the chaos… Yeah, right. Maybe the rumors about the next Vault are wrong, and I'll find El Dorado instead of a vampire. One can dream.


	3. Missing Something?

Missing Something?

Brirea pulls a map from her pack, then spreads it across the table. Shay, occupied with his ale, doesn't bother sitting up. Rana leans over for a better look, the flame in her hand burning dangerously close to the furniture. Tyrril tries to memorize the parchment like the eager student he is. Brirea's taught him a lot, but navigation is still a work in progress.

"I've got an arrow with your name on it if you get mud on my map," the drow says with quiet sternness, pointing to Shay's boots on the table.

"Yes, ma'am." He removes his feet from the furniture, and then the greatsword from his back. The massive, coolly glowing steel leans against his chair as he matches their leader's glare. He could just be getting comfortable, but Tyrril suspects something more. Shay claims his blatant distrust of dark elves is "a part of his heritage." The only reason he tolerates Brirea is her tracking abilities. She's made them a lot of money, enough to keep the pair civil. But they both know the moment the partnership quits being profitable, one of them will be dead.

"Easy, both of you," Rana says, cutting in. The dwarf has to stand on her chair to match the sitting height of the others, but that doesn't matter. Everyone knows she has more than enough magic to burn the tavern down. It makes her a good peacekeeper. "You can fight after I get paid."

The barkeep, a pale man slender enough to be blown over by a sneeze, brings Shay another tankard. He keeps his eyes down, not meeting the eyes of the group. "Anything else I can get you?" he asks submissively.

Shay swaps his empty drink for the fresh one, then takes a long pull from it. The waiter is smart enough not to mention the payment. He'll make profit off the other patrons here tonight.

"Water," Brirea says. Her eyes stay on Shay with a disgusted look.

Rana begins tossing her flame like a ball between her hands. The man ducks to the side as reflex, but keeps his head down.

"We're fine, thanks," Tyrril blurts out in apology. He feels a little bad for him: the pack of bounty hunters in his bar is probably the last thing he needs.

He nods quickly, then heads back to the bar. Shay chuckles at his fear, while the other two dismiss it. Tyrril begins to spin one of his daggers as a way of fidgeting. He doesn't like the tension in the room. High bounties always put the group on edge.

Brirea finally points to the map, noting the town less than a mile from theirs. Rana's magic and the tavern's fireplace illuminate it clearly. "My contacts confirmed the bounties are legitimate. Only the elf knight is clean."

"She's probably better at not getting caught," Rana says. "Or at burning witnesses."

"Just means one less body to carry," Brirea continues. "We'll have to isolate them. The Kenku has the least worth, but I want to deal with him first. They're still picking the ones he killed out of the ceilings in Woodsedge. After that, the rest should be easy marks."

"The halfling is still worth the most, right? 23,000 total?" Tyrril asks confidently. He's trying to prove he's been learning from his tutors. General thievery was something he was used to: hunting people is a different beast. Thankfully, Brirea doesn't mind the occasional stupid question and is grateful to have someone good with locks around.

Brirea nods. "The thief. Green eyes, black hair, likes daggers. They've got another halfling, a blonde bard, but this one's almost worth more than the rest combined. Druma wants him first, then we can drag him to Cheliax."

"And they're both willing to pay for the little bastard," Shay chuckles greedily. "He'll keep my pockets lined for a good while."

"Assuming we can catch them. They're supposed to be heading to Five Kings Mountain, so they'll have to pass through here. We need to be ready," Brirea says cautiously.

"Trust me, no one's ever ready for Swif," a voice answers from behind Shay.

The broad man turns to yell at the uninvited guest, then stops. The other members of the party slowly lean to see the intruder.

A halfling sits with one leg folded over the other in a chair his size. A mask shaped like a raven sits atop his head, casting a shadow over his scarred face. His green eyes almost shine in the shade, as does his confident smirk. Tyrril can count at least four daggers on his dark leather armor, but no other obvious weapons. They must be in the backpack against the wall behind him. He has a tea cup in his right hand, while his left is tossing a small bag. Corvo Millbridge, wanted for two dozen murders and four dozen counts of theft.

"Believe me, I've tolerated him for months: the damned bird still gives me nightmares," he chuckles. "Impulsive, way too skilled with magic, no concern for collateral. Smart decision to deal with him first. You don't give Flynn enough credit, though. He's craftier than he looks."

As Shay stands, the halfling sips his steaming tea. "You were stupid to come here, little one."

"Check your pockets," he says calmly, almost looking past the fighter. The bag he's tossing jingles louder as the room grows silent.

Each of the group reaches down to their hip and finds only empty coin purses. The bags are still there, but only dust remains in them.

"Missing something? I also got the fancy daggers you carry for your little club. Smarter than giving out tattoos: easier to remove when someone leaves," Corvo explains with a growing grin.

The fighter lurches for his greatsword, cursing loudly in a language the half-elf doesn't understand. The he shrieks with a dagger pointing from his shoulder. It's enough to make him stumble into the table while he gropes for the blade. Tyrril spots the design on the hilt, the spinning snakes with an imitation ruby between them. It's Shay's, a clone of the daggers each of them are supposed to have.

Brirea and Rana are finally standing, eyes locked on the halfling. The drow has her hand angled towards her bow, while the flame in the dwarf's hand has grown significantly.

"Think about it, idiots," Corvo says with a sardonic grin. The attack didn't even disrupt his gold tossing or tea. "I got close enough to slit each of your throats, but all I took was gold and daggers. Every breath you take is a gift from me. I only want one thing in return."

Brirea never flinches, but she seems to pause. Tyrril knows that face: she's weighing her options, looking for a way to get the upper hand. She hates the idea of losing to a mark. "Name it." She's stalling.

"Get out. I don't care who you go after, but it's not me or my company," he answers, locking eyes with the woman easily three feet taller than him. The humor in his face and voice is gone. "I'll even give you back enough gold for your trip. All I want is to be left alone."

"Does this asshole know how much he's worth?" Rana says loudly over Shay's groaning. "We were hired personally to catch your ass, for triple our rates."

"You're either losing gold or blood. Make your choice," Corvo says calmly. He takes another sip of his drink, still tossing the gold like a taunt. Or a threat.

Tyrril is finally standing, reaching for his own daggers when he looks over the room. The tavern is completely empty, even the barkeep hidden away somewhere. They didn't run past their table after the thief revealed himself: they left before that. He got them out without any of their group noticing. In the back of his head, he realizes they've bitten off more than they can chew.

Shay finally digs the blade from his shoulder, then draws his greatsword. Corvo sighs, putting his tea aside and stowing the gold in a pocket. The drow's hand drifts closer to her bow, while Rana creates a ball of pale lightning to match her flames. Tyrril grips his dagger nervously, then draws another for his other hand. The halfling slides his mask on, hiding his eyes behind the wooden raven.

Shay growls. "I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart, you moth- "

Two daggers fly in a blur. Rana gets a magic shield up in time to deflect one into the ceiling. Shay sidesteps to dodge, letting the other soar towards Brirea instead. The drow takes it in her padded side. It doesn't pierce through her leather armor, but the quick movement makes her drop the bow. Corvo is on their fighter almost before Tyrril can blink. He slips under the first swing of the chilled sword, and leans just out of the second strike's arc. Shay starts to scream as the halfling rolls between his legs. The daggers in each of his hands are dripping crimson blood.

Tyrril swings his knives with a practiced feint on the left, then stab on the right. Corvo parries the first, but the second blade leaves a clean line up his arm. He growls and ducks back towards Shay before Tyrril can strike again. Heat fills the room as Rana prepares another flame. The halfling leaps onto Shay's back and sinks daggers into the flesh just below the shoulders. With a twist of his blades and hips, the thief turns the fighter into a literal meat shield. Rana's fireball slams into Shay's chest before she can cancel the spell. The human screams for the third time.

The assassin keeps spinning and positions Shay between himself and Tyrril. A kick to the head sends the massive fighter toppling into him. The half-elf is almost crushed under the dead weight, leaving him powerless to do anything but watch. Brirea finally sends an arrow at her target, its silver head glowing with power. Corvo slips under it while Rana shouts another spell. A gale wind catapults the table towards the halfling. Rather than dodging, he jumps towards it feet first. Brirea is already backing up with another arrow in her bow.

Corvo somehow hangs onto the table while it spins for the briefest second. When it faces Rana again, he launches off in a tumble. If the dwarf were larger, she may have been able to shrug the tackle off. But instead, they both slam into the floor. Luck somehow puts Rana on the side closest to Brirea, blocking her shot again. The sorceress has a second to understand what happened before two daggers slice through her neck.

As her mark scrambles across the floor, Brirea starts launching arrows at blinding speed. He rolls away from each of them until he reaches the wall. The drow smiles at the cornered prey. He throws two more blades while finally finding his feet. She leans out of its path before sending a shot directly in front of him. If he were running at her along the floor, it would've taken his head.

But he's not. His bare feet cling to the wall as if it were the ground. In a sprint upward, he somehow climbs to the ceiling while launching another pair of daggers. She pauses in surprise, then takes a blade to the stomach. Now completely upside down, attached to the roof with nothing but his feet, he makes a dash towards her.

Not even Tyrril expected Shay to stand up again. But through the burned flesh and blood loss, the man climbs to his feet with the greatsword hanging loosely in his hand. His barbaric roar gives the halfling pause, and Brirea her first shot at a stationary target. But the blood on her hands makes her release the arrow prematurely and miss him by several feet. Shay rushes in a rage while the half-elf slinks into a corner. None of their other targets managed to even wound them before, let alone make Brirea have that terrified look on her face.

The halfling's surprise fades and he prepares for the coming attacks. The greatsword comes at him almost synchronized with another arrow. He sidesteps both in a dancer's spin. Then he's on Shay's shoulders like a massive bird. Daggers pierce either side of the human's head, silencing him. He falls for a final time not five feet from his drow companion.

Panic falls on Brirea. She swings wildly with her bow at the assassin. One of his blades, still dripping with Shay's blood, deflects the attack while another slashes her hand. She drops the weapon, shrieking in rage and fear. Corvo takes the swing's momentum, dropping one of his daggers for her bow, and cracks it across her head. One scream is her final sound before his remaining blade stabs into her eye. She slumps to the ground, thankfully facing the wall instead of the terrified half-elf.

He pants quietly for a few seconds, only standing while blood drips from his arms. "Assholes, why didn't you just leave…" he whispers. The calm in his voice almost scares Tyrril more.

Brirea's pack is a few feet from her body. The halfling digs a bandage from it, then wraps the cut of his arm. He does a short series of stretches, apparently checking for more injuries. After a minute, he seems satisfied. He takes a clean portion of Brirea's cloak and uses it to wipe himself off.

Tyrril almost makes a break for it when the assassin turns towards him. He tries to make himself small in the corner as he approaches. None of his weapons are out, but Tyrril's not sure if that makes him feel better or not.

Curled up on the floor, he's eye level with the halfling when he reaches him. The mask's beak almost pokes him in the nose, which should've made him laugh. The soulless green gems that replace his eyes prevent that reaction. The part of his face he can see is devoid of emotion, as best he can tell. The sardonic grin and bloodthirsty growl he sported earlier are gone. A part of his brain realizes this is the first halfling he's ever seen that has some stubble for a beard.

"The dwarf said you were hired personally," he states quietly. "Who was it?"

Tyrril finds his throat dry and unable to make a sound. He opens his mouth once, and only air passes through.

Corvo sighs, taking his mask off and letting his black hair fall to his shoulders. He actually looks a little sad now, and older than the posters made him out to be. He's supposed to be in his fifties, barely an adult to full-blood elves, but his face shows many more years. Or maybe it's the miles that came with them.

"Take it easy, alright?" he says with a small grin. It's blatantly false, barely hiding whatever darkness is in his mind. But it somehow sets Tyrril at ease. "Just answer my questions. That's all I want."

Tyrril swallows a bit of spit and finds a weak voice. "A noble, in Cheliax."

"Pale guy, bald, glass eye that doesn't quite match the normal one?"

The half-elf agrees silently.

Corvo scoffs. "Old Movor needs to get over it. His cousins got what was coming to them."

"He gave us the first bounty. Rana heard about the others on our way here," Tyrril explains.

One of the halfling's eyebrows raises in a question. "What others? From Cheliax, Druma?"

"Druma, all of them. Everyone you travel with has a price." He points to Shay's sword scabbard. Corvo investigates the wooden sheath and finds the hidden pocket quickly.

All five sheets of parchment fall out. The three unique posters show a blonde elven woman, another halfling, and a Kenku in their portraits. Their crimes, bounties, and instructions for turning them in are below each picture. The main offense mentioned of his companions' posters are "Questioning in the death of Lady Ravenhelm," but they each include different minor felonies. The bird has stolen several books and magical trinkets, while the bard is accused of playing a part in some minor revolution. Caiphyra, the elf, apparently has some very special artifacts that don't belong to her. But all of them are to be brought to Lord Strikken in Druma alive, to the tune of roughly 8,000 gold apiece.

But the posters with Corvo's portraits tell two different stories. The first mostly matches the others: to be brought to Strikken, questions about Ravenhelm, a few charges of theft and murder of corrupt leaders. The bounty on that poster alone is just shy of ten thousand. The other posting, bestowed onto them by their employer, mentions similar crimes in Cheliax. The primary crime, however, is the murder of the House Abele's entire noble line, as well as six of their personal guards. The price for his head there is 13,000 gold, alive or dead.

"Got to be shitting me," he whispers. He seems angry, afraid, and confused all at once.

"We found the others when we crossed into Galt," the half-elf tries to explain quietly. "Brirea had some friends look into it, they're all legitimate. Lord Strikken's bounty is public, free to anyone who wants to try. But the other one from Cheliax is just for us, maybe one or two other groups."

Corvo sighs, then purses his lips in thought. After a few moments, he folds all of the posters into his own pocket. "Make sure Abele doesn't find out you're alive, and get out of the bounty hunter business now: you won't get this lucky twice."

Looking around to the bodies of his fallen party, he nods quickly. "I-I will. Thank y-you!"

As Tyrril climbs to his feet, a small purse flies into his chest. The heavy jingle of gold sounds as he catches it. He looks up to the halfling.

The short thief flashes another false smile, then shows a fistful of coin. "I kept my half. Grab whatever you need to get home off your friends. The rest is mine."

Tyrril wastes no time collecting his bag, then the provisions from the other packs. The only questionable thing he takes is Shay's sword: it's too big for him, but he can sell it later. Corvo doesn't seem to notice or care as he walks up to the bar. He has the cup of tea again in his right hand, still steaming. Without a word, Tyrril dashes out the door.

Brivud finally stands up from behind his shelter, looking nervously across the room. When all he sees is the cloaked halfling sitting on the bar, he's more than relieved. One homicidal adventurer is better than five. And this one seems somewhat reasonable. He warned him with enough time to hide. Based on the bodies and shattered table in his dad's bar, he's thankful he did.

The raven mask is off-putting, but he ignores that as he approaches what he hopes is a paying customer. He'll have to clean the bodies and blood eventually, but he'd rather wait until he's stopped shaking for that. Although the halfling seems content with his tea, it can't hurt to ask if he wants something.

Before he can say anything, his guest drops five gold pieces on the counter beside him. They land in a perfect stack like poker chips, shining brightly in the flame-lit tavern.

"I have four companions coming in a half hour," the small, well-armed guest says. "Please clean this up before they get here. There's another five in it for you if you don't mention this to them."

"Why?" he blurts out before he can stop himself. He takes a step back, ready for one of his daggers to fly his way.

The customer sighs, pushing his black hair behind his ear. "There's some things they don't need to know about me."

He drops from the counter, then walks to the fireplace. It's burning with a cozy warmth, meant to deal with the coolness of the approaching autumn. Without a word, he takes some parchments from a pocket, and drops them into the flame. The barkeep can't make out anything from his position, but the halfling watches them closely until every bit is ash.

* * *

Just a little giggles thing I did after getting some fabulous art from Palavenmoons on Tumblr (now posted on mine as well), of my D&D character. I created him as a joke thanks to the urging of my Dungeon Master friend, with minimal intention of getting any use out of him. A few months of a campaigns later, and I'm attached to the sarcastic little bastard. I've tried to give him a little life, to the point I'm pretty sure it's irritating my DM, but I think he likes having more ammo to mess with him. Considering he colluded with my wife to send a pack of bounty hunters after Corvo (one of which was a necromancer controlled by my wife), I think he appreciates the chance.

Anyway, back onto my real Dishonored fic. This was just a nice, quick distraction to have a little fun. Thankfully, I've got a mostly empty weekend coming up, so we'll see how much writing I can get done then. Along with scaring the Hell out of myself by going to see IT.


	4. Raining Halflings

After all of the headaches she had tolerated, Fyrie was done being polite with this damned Vault. The last three months had been a miserable parade on nuisances: if it wasn't the Azer waging a guerrilla war to free her work force, it was the Dragonborn going on about her lack of rewards. She was lucky her pet lizards were still alive after wasting two months to simply find the Vault's door. And if that wasn't enough, those adventurers that insisted on being a thorn in her side were still unaccounted for. She quietly hoped capturing their paladin had convinced them to run, but had her reservations. They'd passed up too many opportunities to leave with their tails between their legs to do so now.

But that would soon all be in the past. That Vault was coming open today, one way or another. Mama had gathered her two best shamans to work their magic, trying to destroy the wall the Vault was mounted into. If the lock wouldn't come open, it would just have to be removed. There was a chance the volcano would erupt from the disturbance, but she didn't pay the threat much heed. All it would do is kill a few more of these useless lizards. The fire giant and her Warden could endure the heat of magma without flinching.

The shamans promised to be done within the hour. This only made her more impatient as she paced, waiting for the fabled power to be in her hands. The catwalk under her shook with each thunderous step. The other lizards she brought for security all gripped their weapons nervously. The Vault hid something powerful, but there was no way to know if that something would be friendly. Combined with the fear of falling thirty meters to the bottom of the great room, the tiny creatures had a right to be worried. But Fyrie didn't care. She was ready to be done with Droskar's Crag, and for the constant headaches to be worth something.

The first sign of trouble was a tame one. A shaman stumbled, then suddenly collapsed. There were no wounds or sounds to indicate what happened. It seemed he'd simply passed out in the middle of his spell. The second caster stopped working as well, but for more obvious reasons. A swarm of ravens at least twelve strong had descended from a darkened corner of the room and were turning him into a pin cushion. He was still alive, but the beaks going for his eyes distracted him from his magic.

And then there was a scream on the opposite side of the room. Turning towards it, everyone saw a guard being pulled from the catwalk by a dagger in his leg. As he fell, they got a brief glance at a halfling suspended beneath the catwalk, his raven mask slightly glowing in the shadows. Two of them reached for their spears, one actually throwing his, but their target was gone in a blink.

"Vive la revolution!" came a shout at another door. A half-dozen Azer poured from it with axes, maces, and fists. A different halfling was in the thick of them, this one supported by a thin elf with a bow. This group swarmed the nearest guard and smashed him to pieces before he could draw his spear.

The final entrance of the catwalk held a similar sight. Only three of the flaming dwarves were here, but they did not need numbers. Leading them was the elven paladin Fyrie had captured the previous day, armed with a crimson-glowing war hammer. This group did not even reach their first target before a metal candelabra struck his head and knocked him from the platform. A Kenku in the back was already fishing in his bag for more ammunition to launch.

The defenders were startled by the sudden assault, but formed a passable defense quickly. Lizard archers found their bows and launched a salvo at the most pressing targets they could target. The ones near the eastern door fired at the paladin with every arrow they could reach. Metal struck metal, but nothing hit the elf behind the armor. Those at the west fired on the mass of flaming creatures trying to rush in. At least one fell, but the mob paid no heed to the lost comrade. They focused on the foot soldiers in their way, the lizards armed with spears and sharp teeth. That fight resembled a bar brawl as the Azer, fueled by a thirst for vengeance, competed to kill the ones who had tried to enslave them.

As the lizards bit and the Azer struck, the adventurers made themselves known. Earwen and her magic hammer tore the front guards into burning pieces. The illustrious bard known as Flynn Riverfellow supported his brawling Azer as best he could with healing and inspiring magic, keeping them on their feet longer than their targets. Swif "Collateral Damage" Asterion made short work of the archers in range by pelting them with more of the random objects in his pack. The wizard proved that ink bottles could be very terrifying if magically catapulted at the speed of sound.

Caiphyra tried to reach a second suspended platform for a better vantage point... and missed the jump. Those close enough to listen heard something shouted in elven as she fell, but no crash into the bottom. She was quick enough with Feather Fall to keep herself from splattering into the stone below. Corvo had better luck: more concerned with the threats they could see, the center guards did not notice the shadow moving under their catwalk. Only when the first one fell with a dagger through the eye did they realize their mistake. The halfling barely came up to their waists, but he did not yield to the two guards before him.

Fyrie's impatient annoyance quickly became anger. How dare these insolent creatures interfere again? But a part of her smiled at the opportunity. She could finally crush her opposition. And she did so quite literally, stepping on two of the Azer and one of her own men. Their spears and axes poked at her feet, but the irritation was a small price to pay to hear her enemies die beneath her heel. She backhanded at the center of the nearest mob, but these were able to dive out of the way. Not once did she think to check on her shamans, who were still unconscious or under attack from ravens. Nor did she think that her precious Warden was missing.

No longer surprised, the lizards finally organized themselves enough to attack effectively. Instead of wasting time on the armored elf, they focused on the poorly armed Azer and Kenku still trying to charge from the eastern door. Here, they were finally able to draw blood. The final pair of archers focused their arrows at the halfling healer, unfortunately only hitting the Azer in their way. The center guards decided they did not need help to kill the small rogue, which proved to be a mistake. They were used to fighting creatures their height, and had trouble landing a hit on the thief.

The siege forces adapted as quick as they could. Earwen waded through her Azer party to Swif, smashing one of his attackers into the catwalk. The shield on her back saved them both from impalement by flying spears. The bird, bloodied and panicked, created a small earthquake that damaged their metal path and another guard while miraculously not killing his allies. Corvo proved himself to be just as much a knife fighter as a thief, taking on his attackers with a dagger in each hand. The wounds he inflicted weren't enough to kill, but neither were their strikes. Flynn surprised even himself by somehow healing his companions faster under the barrage of arrows. And Caiphyra, using chains hanging from the very catwalk she fell from, finally made it back into the fray.

Wounded and very angry, the Azer only pushed harder against their would-be rulers. They were a wave of fire washing across the battlefield, engulfing the foes stupid enough to not retreat. The ones without weapons actually seemed to be doing better than their armed companions, their burning fists crashing into lizard skulls with thick cracks. Their short legs did not carry them quickly, but they left nothing alive in their path.

As her hired help fell, Fyrie only became more angry. She saw how dreadfully a pair of them were struggling against the lone halfling, and let her rage strengthen her magic. A steam of fire erupted from her hand at the trio. Corvo avoided death by putting the guards between himself and the spell, but still endured no small amount of injury. The giant stomped at the Azer again, only getting one beneath her foot this time. Now she missed her automaton assistant, but did not stop to wonder why he was not helping her.

The lizards became desperate, and the attackers became bold. Caiphyra wasted no time using her bow to kill the remaining archers with magic arrows. Swif and Earwen pressed forward as one, obliterating everything in their path with miniature tornadoes and the flaming war hammer. Corvo, wounded and very angry, decided the giant's ankles weren't a good enough target for him. His spider powers and daggers helped him scale her armor quickly and without notice. Flynn kept the attacking Azer as intact as he could, but knew he was going to run out of magic soon. His eyes looked everywhere to find some kind of advantage they could use to fell the giant. The dwarves rushed her with the intent to cut her ankles off before reaching her eyes.

Fyrie was not going down without a fight, regardless of how useless her guards proved to be. Putting no small amount of magic behind it, she stomped as hard as she could into the catwalk. The platform buckled and several of the attackers went flying. Only two were unfortunate enough to fall to the stone below.

Just as Flynn had an idea, Corvo had his own. The thief leapt from the giant's shoulder and onto her neck, daggers digging into the skin. Here the flesh was thin enough to draw blood. She yelled and swatted at the injury without realizing what caused it. But much like a real bug, the halfling did not sit still long enough to be smashed.

"Hit the platform, everyone!" Flynn shouted over the pandemonium. While his rapier could do little to the metal infrastructure, his bardic magic could push the others to do more. "Bring it down!"

Half of the Azer got the message, the others too blind in their attack to listen. Heating their metal weapons, they began to bludgeon the catwalk with marvelous efficiency. Earwen took advantage of her hammer's magical fire to work on the central section. Earthquake spells could do more than endanger the party, as Swif proved by sending the platform into a shaking fit. Caiphyra kept the giant preoccupied with arrows at her face. And Corvo did the same, though he preferred using his blades across her neck.

Fyrie felt the heat beneath her feet and decided to focus on the Azer again. She tried to stomp and swat at them, but could not hit any. The voice, the amazingly irritating voice of Flynn Riverfellow was in her mind, disrupting her thoughts. If she could tone it out, she would show them what a real sorcerer could do.

The halfling on her neck did not appreciate being forgotten. Instead of cutting at her with weapons, he went with something psychological. He scrambled up to her eye and pulled a half-melted trophy from his pack. What used to be an armored automaton's head, terrifying with its dark ruby eyes, was now partially dissolved from acid and crudely cut from its body with a short sword.

"This yours, bitch?!" Corvo shouted, holding it before her massive pupil. It did not take long for Fyrie to recognize the severed head of her beloved Warden. Especially when he slammed it into her eye.

What was left of the giant's composure was gone instantly. She roared at the insolent fools that dared try to defy her, the ones that took her beloved servant from her. Her hands raced towards the thief on her face with every intention to feel his life crushed between her fingers.

Corvo somehow kept a hold on his trophy while disappearing into her hair. "She's distracted! Get everyone back!" he shouted, ducking past another massive fingernail.

"Hang on to something!" Flynn replied as he he gave his companions one last magical boost. The others put it to use, slamming the platform with everything they had.

The thief, spotting the chaos below, quickly realized the plan and scrambled to the top of Fyrie's head.

Swif and Earwen delivered the final blows, combining a massive earthquake with an impressive hammer strike into the metal before them. Between this, the damage the Azer had already managed, and the giant's panicked stomping, the platform broke spectacularly. The central section, holding three Azer, Flynn, and the giant, began to fall to the stone below.

Flynn quickly cast Feather Fall on himself and the Azer. Fyrie went down hard and fast, Corvo barely above her before the bard's magic caught him. The quintet of short creatures began to float down at a safe pace and earned a perfect view of their foe crashing into the ground back first. Even for something almost six meters tall, that fall hurt.

But she was still alive. Obviously stunned, just not dead. She glared up at them as they drifted down gently, trying to get control of herself again so she could smite them with magic. The only thing stopping her now were the dancing stars in her brain.

The bard smiled at his companion, pulling his rapier from his hip. "Right eye or left?"

"Left," Corvo said without hesitation. A pair of daggers almost appeared in his hands, sharp and angled for the giant below. "Say when."

The halflings repositioned themselves as they floated down, angling like divers into a lake. Flynn snapped his fingers, canceling their spell roughly twenty feet above their target.

As the blades rushed towards her eyes, Fyrie could only manage a single thought. "I'm about to be killed... by midgets."

Corvo and Flynn pierced the eyes blades first, injuring themselves slightly as they crashed into her skull. The giant died almost instantly, her body seizing twice as it realized her brain was no longer working. Caiphyra was actually concerned about her companions when they didn't immediately reappear, but climbing out of a creature's eye socket was no small task. They both clumsily made their way out a few moments later, gasping for air.

Corvo had hoped the giant's eye fluid would help soothe his fresh burns, but the effect was both the opposite and gross. Flynn snapped his fingers, cleaning them both instantly while he laughed out of exhaustion. The Azer that fell with them had already landed safely and offered Corvo a bottle. He chugged it without question, not caring if it was alcohol or a healing potion: either would help with his stinging skin. As it turned out, the mead did make it bearable.

A sickening crash made the group jump. The shaman that slept through the fight woke up and tired to run. Caiphyra kicked him off the platform without ceremony. The other caster, the one covered in dozens of beak bites and claw marks, surrendered quickly to Earwen.

"You guys can climb back up with that chain," the elven archer shouted, pointing to the same one she used after she fell.

Flynn laughed, shaking his head. "If only Feather Fall worked both ways, eh?"

Corvo barely noticed the comment. He was busy trying to get the fire giant's gold ring off of her hand. It was literally big enough to work as a belt for him, and he had no intention of leaving behind such loot.

* * *

Yes, I am hard at work on the next chapter of Fallen. But I felt a brief little writing exercise would be fun, and it was. I figured instead of writing something original for D&D, how about I try to incorporate what actually happened in a session, bad rolls and all? Not my finest work, but it was a fun distraction I felt like sharing.

This was our second big and bad boss fight of the campaign, and served as one of the last sessions we had with the original party. Fyrie was a nightmare to bring down, but it was a fun fight. And our bard proved that what he lacked in combat prowess, he made up for with creativity: our DM didn't even think about how much damage the platform was taking until he brought it up. Good times.

Anyway, back onto Dishonored for me! Wish me luck with the Golden Cat! ~MGA


	5. Suggestions, Myrtle?

The halfling gives himself another ten minutes to decide if he's staying. Five while his tea brews, five while he drinks it. It's as good of a deadline as any, and the ritual helps him think. There's a reason his pack is never short on tea leaves, legally obtained or otherwise.

Sensing her master's conflict, Myrtle perches herself on his shoulder again. Corvo smiles as he scratches the raven's neck. She doesn't speak in his mind like the others his mask summons, but she doesn't disappear either. It makes her a good companion, someone to bounce ideas off of without getting back talk.

He looks over the rest of the small camp, lifting his mask up so his eyes can scan a little easier. The tiefling, Nalina, is the only professional in the group. She ate quick and is now circling the camp. Her eyes never stay on anything long, always searching the treeline for trouble. She would be the only real threat if he decided to make a break for it. He doesn't feel like getting hunted by a professional who can run on water.

Bounty hunter number two, the tabaxi, is busy playing with his zombies. He enjoys making his creations pretend they have to eat. Those bandits had no idea what their bodies would be used for when they attacked their group. Probably for the best: bad enough they died screaming from Dex's magic fire. He has range with those spells, but he's impulsive, easily distracted. The thief knows he would be a shadow in the trees before the first spell is in the air.

Rounding them out is Stryker. He's so enamored with the story Flynn's weaving, he might not notice if Corvo walked away right now. The bard figured him for the weak link almost instantly and has been using a buddy act to get information out of the human for two weeks. He's the only reason they know they're going to Detmer, to meet a Lord Strikken that has some kind of deal with the squire. No matter how good he is with that bow or magic, his naivety makes him a shitty bounty hunter.

Meanwhile, the bard is doing what he does best: running his mouth. The only other halfling in the group, Flynn can talk all day if he has an audience. At least he knows how to use it for magic in a brawl, and his plans usually work out. Not Corvo's favorite company, but Flynn has more or less earned the thief's loyalty. Working together to kill a Warforged and a Fire Giant will do that.

The only wild card is the paladin. Bayard the Silent is earning his title on the other side of the fire, tending to his sword and shield. In the last two weeks, he's only communicated with nods and looks. Even without words, he's made it obvious he doesn't like the thief and is only here because of some past with Flynn. Corvo's not surprised: he doesn't get along with religious types or rule sticklers. Nothing combines those traits like a paladin. All he needs is to be is a noble, and they're guaranteed to hate each other.

Total score: three bounty hunters of varying competency against, a paladin who's yet to pick a side, and a bard who should be with him. Corvo isn't worried. Escaping should be as easy as it was picking the shackles they insisted on in the beginning.

Corvo mentally checks his plan again as he removes his leaves from his mug. According to the map he stole from the tiefling's pack last night, they should be about the same distance from three different towns. A small one-tavern place to the south, the river port due north, and a large city somewhere west. The city would be the easiest to hide in, and that's where he would make them think he's going. He could make it two or three miles that direction, then cut north to the port. The docks will be too busy to notice a halfling slipping into a boat headed wherever he wants.

The cat makes escaping the camp just as easy. Corvo found a few bottles of acid and alchemist's fire in Dex's pack the other night. Accidents happen, sometimes in the tent the bounty hunters share. All he has to do is wait for Nalina to be checking the perimeter somewhere where she doesn't have eyes on the tent. Open a stopper, lay the bottle on its side, and wait by the tea kettle. His distraction would be ready in moments, give him plenty of time to start a fake trail in the woods.

It's a solid plan, simple. So that's not the issue for the halfling. Not a question of if he can, but if he should.

Corvo adds a spoon of sugar "borrowed" from Stryker's rations to his tea. The silver of his mug catches the raven's eye, and she hops down to his forearm. Her small beak tests the metal once, then twice, before giving up and turning to her master's face again. The thief is quietly thankful his magic companion is a little as she is. A normal raven is larger than a halfling's head.

"The drink tastes better than the cup," Corvo quietly jokes to the bird. He scratches her again, watching the bird lean into the contact.

The big question is what he would do after losing them. He could wipe his hands of all this. There's plenty of countries he can go to, get away from the Vaults and House Ravenhelm. He could even go back to Galt, continue his raids on the nearly abandoned noble estates, or on the roving mobs burning the country for shits and grins. There is no shortage of money there, no central government to deal with, and very few bounty hunters from Cheliax. If he ever got tired of it, he could always head south to Taldor and start robbing those royal pricks.

Easy answer, but if he's being honest, not the one he would go with. Even without the whole "the world will end if the Vaults are opened" thing, which he doesn't believe, he did promise Flynn he was helping see this through. Half of the original group is gone, and if they've already found a Spectator and a few dozen traps in two Vaults, Flynn's going to need all the help he can get. Not that Corvo enjoys diving into danger, but he's just fond enough of the bard to not want him dead.

There's also the promise of treasure. He's come out like a prince from the last two Vaults, hauling a magic book, his new favorite mask, and at least five hundred loose gold coins. That's not counting all of the goodies he's taken from cultists, bandits, and anyone else who made the mistake of getting in his way. It's the most reliable income he's had in months. Dangerous, sure, but he's finally turning a profit.

"Money's nice," he whispers to Myrtle. Then he takes his first sip of tea: still a little too warm for a humid day in the forest, but strong and sweet enough to work. "Easier ways to get it, though."

The raven positions herself closer to his hand and stares at him. Corvo sees the slight swirling magic behind her eyes, the only real reminder Myrtle isn't what she appears. There's intelligence in there as well, like with all ravens. His mother told him stories about how nature is always smarter than civilization gives it credit for. But it'll happily remind them when they forget, either with the animals themselves, or the dryads that dwell within.

"Vaults, or good old thieving?" he asks. "I know you've got an opinion."

The bird leans in closer, and he swears she turns her beak slightly towards the bard.

"You're overestimating my fondness for Flynn. And doesn't safer pay sound nice?"

She squats down, perfectly balanced on the edge of his hand. Myrtle doesn't blink or flinch as she continues to watch her master.

He laughs a little. "You're in trouble if you shit on me... Come on, is this worth it? There's easier coin outside of those Vaults."

At the word, "vaults," the bird is standing again. She gives a slight chirp as acknowledgment.

"What, you think the world's actually going to end if those things come open? Or do you just like Flynn that much?"

Myrtle leans closer to him, specifically his neck. Her beak gently rubs the fresh scar running along his collar bone. The javelin that nicked him just before the Warden caught him. It was a wound that Flynn healed with magic, got him up enough to pour acid on the Warforged's face. One of the easiest moments to point to where the bard had saved him.

He nods slowly, conceding the point. "Fine, he kept me alive. Not like he dragged me into it, or that I've done the same for him."

The bird makes a show of sitting back down.

"All you've got to say, huh?" He finishes his tea in one quick sip.

His personal deadline has come. With his drink gone, he should've decided one way or the other if he's ditching the hunters. He knows he's close, so he falls back to his other thinking ritual. A dagger from the small of his back slides out of its sheath, barely glinting in the sunlight. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nalina stare at him before moving on. She's not a fan of this habit, but knows it's not meant for her neck.

He doesn't even have to look at the blade while he plays with it. His eyes stay on Myrtle, slowly contemplating as his right hand makes the knife dance. Rolling it between his fingers like a coin, small tosses, spinning to switch between grips. His flesh beneath the fingerless gloves show all the scars he earned practicing these tricks until they were as natural as breathing. Now he does it as a way to fidget while his mind processes.

There's no reason to kill them. He wouldn't put it past the cat to give him a reason, considering he's now making his zombies brush him, but not yet. Losing them is more a matter of when than if he can. Staying or going comes with roughly the same amount of risk, at least until the boss gets involved in Detmer. In the end, it's a toss up which would be best in the short term. It's what would happen after that makes the difference.

Quietly becoming a normal (but exceptional) thief again sounds nice. Little boring, but safe. There would still be bounty hunters after him for Cheliax, but Movor's thugs are as inept as Stryker. Could he go back to that? Or would he find himself drawn back to this Ravenhelm and Vault bullshit again? The treasure makes it tempting, and his promises to Lady Raven and Flynn are hard to ignore. Though would only be breaking one vow, considering the former is dead.

The more sentimental side of him wins out and decides to stick with the Vaults. Call it pity for a family almost as damaged as his, or loyalty to a dead woman and a suicidal bard, but he knows that's just as much a motivator as the treasure. He won't lie to himself and pretend it's not. Still, anyone who calls him out on it will have a limp before they finish the sentence.

So... is there any point in escaping? The best case is he scouts the city before Flynn and the others catch up. If any of his contacts in Detmer haven't died of old age or occupational hazards, they're more likely to talk to him than a group. But that leaves him in a country notorious for hanging thieves, and a lot of temptation to start robbing every pretty house he comes across. At least with a group, he can hide in them, let the others draw the guards' attention.

Decision made then. As much as he still hates it, it's better to play along with the bounty hunters and go to meet this Lord Strikken. He'll stick with the plan until then, at least.

A part of him briefly wonders why that bothers him so badly. It's the smart play, sets what passes for his morals at ease, gets him some coin. It should at least make him relax to have decided. Probably something to do with still technically being someone's prisoner... He buries the thought as deep as he can. The answer to his question lies somewhere in the memories of Cheliax, of the bad old days with whips, chains, piss poor excuse for food, and dead family. It's not somewhere he wants to spend any more time in than he has to.

Settling down with his choice, he refills his mug with the kettle's still hot water. He chooses a spiced tea this time, one from Nalina's kit. She has good taste, even if she did break several of his ribs the first time they met. He sets the cup to the side to brew, then resumes playing with his knife. It's more to calm him than to think. He's already done enough of that for lunch.

Myrtle stands again on his hand, looking back with those intelligent, swirling eyes. She stays silent this time.

"You won, alright?" he admits quietly. "We're staying, Em. Quit fussing."

She seems to settle, just standing and watching instead of staring him down.

"Tell your brothers to be ready. I get the feeling we're going to need the backup."

No chirp or obvious movement this time. But he swears she understands the message. Might even be passing it on to the other ravens, considering how little he understands the "pets" his mask summons. He's sure they'll tell him when they're out again.

Flynn seems to have ended his story. He gives his human listener a handshake, then starts walking towards Corvo. The damned bard is good at reading people, probably already realized there's something on his companion's mind.

So the thief does what he usually does. With one sigh, he summons his normal aura of sarcastic indifference. Even he almost forgets the thoughts that were plaguing him a moment ago.

"Remembering a merc from years ago, one of those tibbit things," he announces to the bard, still looking at Myrtle. "Liked to freeze people solid, including a bar keep who was letting me stay at his place. I skinned the little bastard, turned him into a nice scarf. Was wondering how much I could get from Fluffy over there if I did the same. Can't decide if he's big enough to be a blanket or not."

Flynn gives an uneasy smile, the kind that comes when he doesn't know how else to react. Corvo allows a small grin as he successfully lies to his companion. He would rather be thought of as a psychopath than disloyal. Especially by someone he almost considers a friend.

* * *

Another one for the continued adventures of Tiny Corvo. I still love the little bugger and miss playing him. Now I'm torn between writing about him for nostalgia and Jingles because I'm actively using him and keep coming up with new ideas... Why is there not more time for me to write? Anyway, hope everyone enjoys the tiny detour before the next Fallen chapter. ~MGA


End file.
